


Just a Minuet

by GraceEliz



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Chapter Two ft Bail Breha and swing dancing, Dancing Lessons, F/M, Fluff, fox and riyo go dancing that's the fic, i miss dancing so much, references to Strictly Ballroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceEliz/pseuds/GraceEliz
Summary: She stands up, bouncing a little. The shoes are a lovely royal blue and gold, three-inch heel, crusted in crystals that make the intertwined straps glint. “Those are lovely,” he says, leaning to admire them – and her slender ankles, a work of art in their own right, adorned by bejewelled shoe-straps or not. “The straps are little hooks?”
Relationships: Riyo Chuchi/CC-1010 | Fox
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1010 words I couldn't NOT post this  
> Also it's 2am  
> Chapter two (read: baz Luhrman references) coming soon.

“That looks difficult.”

Riyo shrugs. “It’s not too bad when you’re fit, which you are. You're also really good at finding the beat and you picked up the steps of easy ones in minutes, so I don’t foresee any problems.”

He nods slowly, not at all convinced, because those kicks are fast. There seems to be a lot of bouncing around in this one, lots of jumping in general, and he’s still trying to work out the beat of the show-dance the tutors demonstrated earlier. What had it been called? A “Charleston”, that was it.

Fox doesn’t think his knees can bend so at those speeds anymore.

“Come on,” says Riyo, dragging him onto the floor. “Hi! I’m Riyo, and this is Fox.”

The Pantoran dance tutor smiles, lean and strong in ways Fox just hasn’t been since he was in his penultimate growth stage. “Good morning. My name is Katrin. What can I do for you?”

Riyo tugs out the pamphlet. “You do beginner’s courses?”

Katrin nods slowly. “We do, but I’ve had Clones in before, and you’ll do better in the intermediate, Fox. You may feel like you’re behind for a few sessions, but you boys pick the steps up so quickly,” she trails off with a shrug, expectant gaze on him. “I’m about to start one, you’re very welcome to attend and we’ll arrange payment before you leave.”

“That sounds fine,” he accepts, grateful for Riyo’s warm hand in his giving him the courage to accept the offer. It sounds terrifying. He’s not used to doing something just because he wants to; dancing was part of PT on Kamino, so he can do a bit, but honestly? It was ages ago. The clearest memory of dancing in PT he has is the one time that the Cuy’val decided the boys needed to know the very fast whirling dances of Mandalore, which had been very enjoyable. Doesn’t mean he remembers the steps. Keen, far keener than he, his girlfriend drags him over to the benches to change their shoes.

“Don’t step on me,” she orders, eyes bright and teasing.  
Fox laughs. “As if I would.” His dress shoes are well fitted and of decent quality, as befits a man of his station, but they’re also nowhere near fully broken in. Yay, blisters. Still, Command Training did one thing right: he’s remembered to bring a box of plasters. Boots always manage to rub right on the raw patches left by breaking in new shoes. 

She stands up, bouncing a little. The shoes are a lovely royal blue and gold, three-inch heel, crusted in crystals that make the intertwined straps glint. “Those are lovely,” he says, leaning to admire them – and her slender ankles, a work of art in their own right, adorned by bejewelled shoe-straps or not. “The straps are little hooks?”

“Yes, makes them easy to slide on and off. They were a gift from my mother,” she tells him. “Are you ready?”

“Emotionally or physically or mentally?”

Her green cheek-marks crinkle when she pulls a face at him. “Get up here.”

He stands easily, pleasantly surprised by the lack of a twinge from his once-shattered knee. That’s one benefit of light shoes and looser fit slacks, he usually gets most of the day before something gives out. Stars, he’s only twenty-five, physically, and here he is spending most of his days counting hours until he has to take painkillers and supplements. Riyo deserves a damn sight better than him.

She faces him, bouncing slightly on her toes, the heels tapping barely audibly on the chalked surface. “The chalk stops us slipping,” she informs him, “I’ll have to get you pair of proper dance shoes if those aren’t enough.” Her blue hand against his makes him look muddy, he thinks, but she sighs happily as she squeezes. “I do so love how our skin shades look together, don’t you?”

Yes, he doesn’t say, because any view with you in it is the most beautiful thing in the world. Instead he smiles and lets her drape his other hand around the curve of her waist.

“Okay,” calls Katrin, “warm-up! A simple waltz, Coruscanti style, please. Commander, you may hold her a little closer. We are not of Onderon.” This earns her a blush from him, and titters from the rest of the room; he’ll ask Riyo to explain the quip afterwards. Obedient to direction he shuffles a little closer. “Lesson one, then. In a waltz, ladies step back and gents forwards.” 

The recap is helpful, affirming what he knew; he is grateful to Katrin, who drops him a wink as she glides around correcting stances. Forwards with his right leg onto his heel, sending Riyo back to her toe. Smoothly rock onto his toe, Riyo to her heel, and his left leg across and up diagonally with his weight shifting through his hips, then feet together in a smart snap. Then repeat it, smooth and rapid, rising and falling like moving water. One-two-three. 

“Corners, love,” she breathes, and he keeps his chin up and his breathing steady and carefully maneouvres around the curve without hitting anyone else or getting boxed in. “Told you it would only take a minuet.”

He grins, enchanted as always by her faith in him, and then he blinks and his eyes slide up to the wall as he processes. “Was that a pun?”

Riyo laughs, bright and loud, head tipped back and eyes crinkling. “Yes, love,” she teases. “Arms, Clary.”

“Sorry?”

“Do you remember the film we watched last week, the one about the Nubian dancers?”

Yes; he’d found it very funny, and he remembers now, the mother of the main character always shouted at one of the background characters to hold up her arms. Another rule, that one: always support your own weight. Your dancing partner is not there to hold up your arms for you. “Yes, I recall.” He glides them around the next corner, shortening his stride and smiling in ride when Riyo praises him for it. “Boxed in.”

She sniggers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not enough references, shame on me. But it's 1010 words again :P.  
> The dance they're doing a rhythm foxtrot to was Mack the Knife, which I will admit is possibly the only song I can do a rhythm foxtrot to, because lessons and all not happening. However! Just slap on a swing/big band soundtrack, and you're made.

Riyo’s dress makes her look like an angel. She stands out on the balcony of her apartment silhouetted against the setting sun, and the blue of her skin makes the feathers of the wire-frame wings look far whiter than they did under the light of her dressing-room. For a moment he imagines they’re somewhere peaceful and quiet, where they can’t hear the incessant speeder-engines under the soft tones of the ballet she likes to listen to, where he isn’t beholden to the buzz of his  commlink .

“We need to set off,” he says to her through the gauzy curtains.

“Okay,” she agrees, taking in a deep breath and turning to him. “Got our shoes?”

He holds up the shoe bag, a pretty little embroidered thing with both of their pairs of dancing shoes in. The soles of Riyo’s, specifically, are velvety suede, and walking through Coruscant would ruin them. Instead she has a pair of white heels with deep blue stones, to match her skin and the glint of her belt on the white dress. His own suit is the same midnight-dark blue as her decorative rhinestones, a gift from her; he cherishes it.

“Got your coat?”

“Which of us is the Commander of the Guard, here?” he asks, amused. His beautiful girlfriend smiles at him widely. She looks like an angel.

“Just checking.”

Of course she is, Fox thinks fondly as he puts his coat on. “I don’t want to embarrass you,” he admits quietly, his eyes on hers. “If they expect me to be something special, I mean. If the dances aren’t the ones we practiced.”

Riyo smiles, and cups his cheek with her  uncalloused hand. Even like this, in her heels, he dwarfs her. “There are no new steps, Fox,” she teases, her eyes sparkling. 

For some reason, the silly quote from the film is comforting, because she’s right: in the Senate ball, there will be no new steps, and so he won’t embarrass himself or her. “No new steps,” he agrees much as he says  _ k’oyacyi _ __ and  _ jate’oya _ _ , _ and laughs. His  vod’e will rib him for months for how stressed out he’s been over this, if they ever find out. Technically, he has an off day, and they’re not expecting to see him. The surprise will be good for them, he thinks a little vindictively, and certainly not revenge for the complete tits-up of their last set of drills. 

She wraps herself in her white-fur coat, and he tucks the blue scarf around her neck carefully. They won’t be taking his speeder tonight; it wouldn’t do to show up windswept and smelling of city air. “Ready, love?”

He shrugs. No, but he’ll manage.

The ball is as ostentatious and over- dramatised as it always. To their credit, his men managed not to display any surprise at his presence when he arrived on Senator  Chuchi’s arm, and even offered to let him have an earpiece to hear the comms, but he is on his off day. More to the point, he’s on a date with his girlfriend, and he has faith in his brothers, smart and sharp in their grey dress uniforms or red-on-white armour, carefully uniform, except for him. He is standing by the buffet, with Riyo’s drink in his left hand, flicking handsigns at his nearest  vod – a relative Shiny, Cord – with his right, assuring the kid he’s proud of him.

“You! Clone! I have a complaint,” sneers a senator, tottering and over-cologned, and Fox smiles too widely, showing his canines. 

“I’m off duty,” he says politely.  Kark you, he doesn’t add.

The senator straightens, puffs up, focusing  alcohol -hazy eyes on him. “Now see here,” they start pompously, but Cord (brave kid, ARC potential) interrupts to quietly state regulations and note the complaint, and Fox takes the opportunity of distraction to sweep off towards Riyo. She is laughing with some of her friends, an angel in the flesh. He owes the kid one.

“May I have this dance, my dearest?”

Riyo smiles, accepting his hand with pleasure; she downs what was left of her drink and passes the empty glass off to Senator Amidala, who he won’t admit to anyone but Riyo and  Thire is his second- favourite senator. “This dance and every dance,” she promises. 

He pulls her out into the floor, settling their hands where they fall with the ease of practice. Just like in Riyo’s flat, the sofa pushed back and rug folded back to clear enough space. A rhythm foxtrot, four-beat, forward-side-together-side, back-side-together-side: the same leg to take the weight, thankfully not his bad one. It took him longer to learn this one, to get the beat of the sidesteps right; for a few bars Riyo guides him with squeezes of her fingers on his shoulder until he catches on to how the rhythm is swung. His chin is held up, but loose, none of the tension from his early lessons. Katrin, he thinks, would be proud of his improvement. For this, most of his weight is in his toes to allow for the bounces; he thinks he’s got a handle on it, until he sees a couple in royal blue – Queen  Breha Organa and Bail Organa, and  _ haar’chak _ there goes his blood pressure through the roof, he had not been prepared for the Royal Presence of  Alderaan . They are whirling about with great abandon, kicking their legs up in unison on the beat; Queen  Breha’s skirt flares beautifully out, snapping around her shins. Senator Amidala whoops at them, earning herself a laugh from the watching crowd, and Riyo spins him so she can see past him.

Maybe he should have insisted harder on learning the swing dances, the ones he knows full well will knacker his leg; he knows how much she really does enjoy the speed and energy of it all. Fox watches carefully how Bail Organa dances, allowing his wife to take the more dramatic steps, his own movements much more restrained. Well, he thinks, looking down into Riyo’s laughing eyes, we can’t have that. “Hey, Riyo,” and they spin.

**Author's Note:**

> I love watching my dad dance. He's been dancing since he was kid; dance is probably his favourite hobby, when we can do it. Sadly since March we haven't been able to, and it doesn't look like we can go again anytime soon. So this is an ode to that, I guess. An ode to dance, and my dad teaching it.


End file.
